


animals

by fleetingblossom



Category: Diabolik Lovers
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-28
Updated: 2014-11-28
Packaged: 2018-02-27 06:56:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2683466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleetingblossom/pseuds/fleetingblossom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How beautiful. He strokes her cheek and a breath of air escapes from her lungs. She doesn’t even struggle, not anymore, not even when he digs his fingers between fractured ribs. // Mukami Kou, a murdering idol and an idle murderer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	animals

**Author's Note:**

> Finished 11/27/2014.

❝I am an animal trapped in your hot car.❞  
— [All I Need](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jLRifPue5Ss), Radiohead

Japan’s sweetheart has lips like cherries, sparkling pink nail polish and her knees scraping against the wood floor of the apartment his company rents. He winds fingers into her hair, dyed the color of lukewarm tea for her newest drama and sighs when her perfectly manicured nails graze his hipbones.

“No teeth, princess.” The way she looks now, pink lips glossy, he can’t help but smile, voice a low, soft growl, “Good girl.” Because she _is_ a good girl. He can only wonder, for now, because _patience, Kou, patience_ , what her skin looks like sliced open, flower petals spilling from her guts.

Instead, he exhales again, this time softer, “Good girl.”

A good girl who appears on Music Station, with her hair smoothed out, smelling like flowers, stars in her eyes as she introduces herself, shining brightly even in a group of eight other girls. Her hands flutter nervously, little birds thumping against her chest.

The audience claps politely, and the host laughs at every well rehearsed joke before everyone’s attention turns to him. “So, Mukami-san, what can we expect from your new solo single?” Hot lights shine in his face, and he sees the sweat pool on her forehead, sliding down her cheek, his tongue running against the roof of his mouth to taste the salt.    

“My name is Mukami Kou,” he introduces himself backstage, where everyone’s bustling about right after the taping. Her eyes are surprised, lighting up at the idea of speaking to him, her cherry lips parting.

“I really admire you, Mukami-san!” Honey spills from her mouth, and he grins, rubbing the back of his neck as he laughs nervously. When he extends her hand for her to shake, he leaves his number scrawled on a little piece of paper.

When he returns to his apartment, shuts the door behind him, his cell phone lights up.

 **RE:** Thank you for today, Mukami-san!

Good things come with patience, and when his manager sits him down, he perfects his smile. “Kou-san, you got a drama offer.” He is handed the synopsis, and he flips through it with no particular interest until he notices the name of the actress who will star opposite him.

“The name is awful, Sato-san,” he deadpans, thumbing over the printed words. “ _Koisuru! Vampire Boy_ , really? Whose idea was it?”

“But will you do it, Kou-san?”

“Of course.”

When it’s time for the script reading, he brushes his fingers against the skin of her arm and she jumps back, startled, but her eyes are smiling. “Can I call you Kou-kun?” she whispers at lunch break, her thermos of jasmine tea between them.

He leans in to brush his lips against her ear, her hair ghosting his cheek as her skin flushes, her hand knocking over the thermos as she begins to apologize. His eyes narrow just a little when she gets on her knees to fix the spill, and he kneels beside her, grabbing her wrist. “Just Kou. Please.”

She is stars in her eyes when he yanks her towards him, lips pressing against hers. “I like you.” The air leaves her lungs, and she grows lax, mouth open just a little as she tries to find the words to say in response.

And of course--he has to smile because they are all the same, they are all so predictable, caught in the sugar syrup of his words--“I like you, too, Kou.” She leans up a little to kiss him again, but he places his fingers to her lips instead.

“You have to be a good girl, or we’ll get caught. You wouldn’t want to get caught, right?” Think of the scandal, he murmurs, as she comes to him in a gold wig and big sunglasses. “Did you tell anyone? I have something special planned for us today.”

Her breath fogs up the glass as she dives into his arms, her shoulders trembling from the cold. “I didn’t, Kou. I didn’t tell anyone.” Her agency thinks she’s on a train back to Kyoto and her family thinks she’s still in Tokyo.

“I love you, Kou. I love you,” she says over and over again, and if she loves him, he thinks, then she wouldn’t mind. His mouth is on her neck, hands on her waist, and she squirms, eyes closed as she mewls his name, flesh so soft, so pliable.

So gullible, she doesn’t even have time to scream when he slams her head against the tabletop. Moonlight spills through the curtains, and she tries to scream again when he forces his fingers past her lips.

“Don’t you love me? I thought you loved me. You’re a good girl, aren’t you? Don’t scream. I’ll cut you open if you scream.”

He’s not there to witness her manager storming up to her apartment, looking in vain for her. In fact, her disappearance was kept quiet, hush hush, for an entire week, before someone comes forward and her face is all over the news.

She’s been missing for two weeks by then, but no one wants to say anything, the sin of her on her hands.

Missing. Not dead. Kou laughs a little as he opens the door to his room. She’s stopped whimpering, at least, but the color’s drained from those pink cherry lips, skin cracked as he leans to kiss her. She drinks like she’s dying from thirst and not the festering wound at her neck.

“Do you think they’ll find her, Kou? You liked her, didn’t you?” his band mate asks, a barrage of questions in just the ten minutes of break between dance practice, where their clothes cling to their skin from exertion and salt water.

The corners of his mouth pull downwards just a little, and he glances away, the heel of his hand wiping at imaginary sweat. “I know they’ll find her,” he answers, shifting on his feet. “They have to.” He leaves the second question unanswered, letting the silence fill in the spaces as their instructor calls for them to begin again.

NHK pulls the drama he stars with her from airing, and no one blames them. It was in bad taste to keep it on air, when she hasn’t been found yet. There is a press conference, where he sits at the center of the stage, looking faraway, hair perfectly disarray.

“It has been three weeks since her disappearance, but the police are working as hard as they can to find her. I am sure they will. Please do not lose hope.” There is no polite applause after his speech, and the quiet hangs in the air, uncomfortable.

He looks like he’s about to suffocate, and when he turns from the audience, a small whimper rising from his throat, unable to keep going, his manager hurries to have the cameras shut off. They film anyways, and within minutes the broadcast is all over social media.

The door to his apartment shuts close, and he slumps in his chair, smiling. The next morning, there is a offer for a commercial waiting for him when he arrives to the talent agency. “It will keep your mind off of what’s happening, I hope.”

Fans leave flowers and gifts for her in front of her agency’s doors--her favorite tulips are sunny and yellow in the winter air. “Can I leave something for her?” he asks his manager one day, out of the blue, and his manager looks uncomfortable for a split second.

“You can do it with the rest of the members.” A pause, and his manager reaches to adjust his tie, unsure. Maybe Mukami Kou had really had a relationship with her--this was something they tried very hard to cover up, true or not--and of _course_ he was upset that she is gone.

Of course. That was the only reason. They were costars, after all. Young. Beautiful. Of course they would fall in love. On the day _Koisuru! Vampire Boy_ was supposed to broadcast, the paparazzi sneak shots of him kneeling in front of the makeshift shrine made in her name.

He places down sunflowers to light her way home, kissing the petals before they’re left in the cold. The tabloid magazines speculate if he loves her, and his agency thinks this is good publicity, neither confirming nor denying his devotion.

“Kou-kun! Kou-kun! Can I get a comment on the kidnapping case? Why the sunflowers? Did you love her?” They clamor in front of the building he’s had his variety show taping at, their eyes animals, claws out as they shove microphones in his face.

His manager shields his eyes, and he swallows methodically, Adam’s apple bobbing underneath his skin. “I don’t feel it’s my place to talk about her. I just want her to return to her family, safe and sound. I want her to return home,” The camera zooms in on his eyes, mismatched and tears pooling at their corners.

She is home, the last of her oxygen in her shallow breathing, her chest struggling to hold up her ribs. The last thing on her lips is his name, soft and quiet and in love, “Kou-kun, please.” Please. Please. Please.

Please, he kisses her, and remembers all the times begging could be of use. “Be a good girl, and don’t speak.” Her eyes roll to the back of her head, tears seeping into the cracks of her skin. “It’s all going to be alright.”

How beautiful. He strokes her cheek and a breath of air escapes from her lungs. Not long now, maybe, when her chest has caved in. She doesn’t even struggle, not anymore, not even when he digs his fingers between fractured ribs. The bones of her fingers cracking beneath the soles of his shoes, perfect cherry lips frozen open like the mouth of a fish gasping for water.

The maggots curl where her heart is supposed to be, and he kisses her again. If he was a lover, his breath could revive her, his lips could warm hers. He could cradle her body like this, his fingers brushing the skin of her exposed shoulders, the white of her bones.

He could pretend that much, just from the way he caresses the curve of her jaw, fingers dancing across her half-closed eyelids, fingertips sinking, her skin yielding just so. “Good night.”

They could do what lovers do, and she could die in his arms. “I love you.” He kisses her again, digging his fingers in.

She doesn’t even scream.


End file.
